Foot Prints
by Lipton Lee
Summary: The Post-War musings of some of the prominant characters one year after the big, honking battle.
1. Default Chapter

Author's Notes: The Post-War musings of one Ronald Weasley, at around 5:30 in the morning, on the first snow of his seventh year. Ron/Hermione, but only a little. Just a little fluff. No real plot-ness. I suggest all the Ron-haters turn tale and run now, because Ron is probably my favorite character in HP.  
  
A PG-13 for some language and some of Ron's comments.   
  
This has nothing to do with my Crossover. It's a total stand-alone, and only deals with the HP characters. Totally different continuity and stuff J  
  
Disclaimer: No characters are mine. None of 'em. So don't sue, cause I'm paying for college. And I need what little cash I have.   
  
  
Foot Prints  
  
Fluffy, sticky snow fell to the ground, covering it, and Hogwarts thickly. The sky was clear and white, the air was frigid, and the lake was glazed over with shimmering ice.   
  
Some people have a sixth sense about them… reading minds, telling the future, things like that.  
  
Ron Weasley was a bit different.  
  
He could sense snow.  
  
He didn't have to look out my window. He didn't have to listen to the Wizard Wire, He didn't need to speak with anyone. He only woke up early when it snowed. He could smell it even from underneath the covers of his four-poster. He reached a long, freckled arm out to grab the pocket watch sitting on his dresser, and pull it underneath the heavy blanket.  
  
5:12 am.   
  
He knew it was Saturday.   
  
Slowly, he sat up and pulled his covers down. His bright red hair stuck out every which way, and rubbed his sleepy blues eyes into focus. He glanced out his window and smiled.  
  
Right again.   
  
His roommates were obviously still asleep.   
  
Harry was sprawled out on his stomach, drooling lightly onto his pillow, his glasses clenched in his hand, which dangled off the bed. His black hair was just as, if not even messier than Ron's. He murmured in his sleep, and occasionally said coherent words.   
  
Seamus was a complete mess. His pillow covered his head. His right leg and arm dangled off the bed. He hadn't even bothered to get under his sheets.   
  
Neville was curled up, looking cozy. He snored quite a bit, but not enough to bother any of his roommates.   
  
Dean slept on his back with his arms behind his head. He was soundless, his eyes closed.  
  
Ron knew what he looked like when he slept. Bill made fun of him all the time.   
  
He was a "Pile of Weasley." Curled up, his whole body, sans the top of his head covered by his sheets.   
  
As much as he loved Quidditch, and as little Quidditch you could play in the winter, he loved cold weather. He silently slid out of bed and padded over to the window. He opened it up, and breathed in the sharp, cold air.  
  
"If you don' close tha' window, I'll kill ya."  
  
Ron sighed at Seamus' muffled voice and shut the window. "Sorry, mate."  
  
There was no reply. Seamus had most likely passed out again.   
  
Ron couldn't stand it. He had to get outside.   
  
He grabbed a pair of pants and, his robes, shoes and his scarf and was about to walk out the of the room, but instead, knelt beside Harry's bed and pulled the glasses from his grasp. He folded them neatly, and set them on the night table.   
  
Harry's eyes opened to slits, and he smirked at Ron. "Come to wake Sleeping Beauty with a kiss, have you Prince Charming?"  
  
"You're a prat, y'know that?" Ron asked with snicker. "I was being nice."  
  
"Thanks, mate," Harry said sincerely. "You headed for a jaunt to the kitchens?"   
  
"Outside," Ron corrected him.  
  
"Snowing, is it?"  
  
Ron nodded.   
  
"Go out and catch your death, you crazy git," Harry ordered. "See you at breakfast."  
  
Ron got up and walked out of the room, closing the door as quietly as he could behind him. He walked quietly down the stairs to the common room, where Hermione was sleeping over her books at one of the table.   
  
He sighed and smirked. He gently lifted the quill from her loosened grasp and set it next to her. He grabbed a blanket from the couch near the fireplace and draped it over her shoulders as she slept on.   
  
She smiled in her sleep, and sighed.  
  
He almost left before he sighed and headed for the girls' dormitory. He slowly opened one of the many doors, to find his younger sister sitting up in her bed, looking out the window at the steady fall of snow. Her head snapped to him, and she smiled.  
  
"Thought you'd be up," she whispered.  
  
He smirked and nodded. "Going for a walk. Coming?"  
  
She stretched and shook her head. "No, thanks. Gonna catch more sleep. Have fun."  
  
Ron shrugged, and closed the door once more. He walked back down to the common room, only to find Hermione now sitting up in her chair, the blanket wrapped closer around her. "Going out?"  
  
He smirked. "Just for a bit of a walk. Wanna come?"  
  
"No, thanks," she replied. "I have work to do."  
  
"Hermione…"  
  
"I do."  
  
"You slept here. Go to bed."  
  
"But-"  
  
He knelt in front of her. "Do you know most of the things in the chapters you were assigned?"  
  
"Well… yes."  
  
"Then go to bed, you bloody know-it-all, and worry about it a few more hours," he told her. "Please, Mione. It's not good to sleep over your books."   
  
She smiled at him, and kissed the top of his head. "Alright, you bossy prat. Go have your walk, and I promise I'll be in bed when you get back. But I'm making you sit and do your homework this afternoon." She poked him in the shoulder.  
  
He wrinkled his nose, and got up, and kissed her forehead. "Yeah, alright. Sweet dreams, luv."   
  
With one last smirk her way, he exited the portrait hole.  
  
He walked through the empty halls, taking in the scenery he'd taken in for seven years.  
  
"Weasley?"  
  
He turned around casually, and caught sight of Professor Snape.   
  
Ron sighed, annoyed. "Good morning, Professor," he greeted.  
  
Snape glared at him, warily. "Where are you going?"  
  
"Outside."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I want to freeze me bum off."  
  
Snape glared harder. "I don't trust you."  
  
"Nonsense, Severus," said a kind voice. "It's the first snowfall of the year. It's tradition for Ronald Weasley to rise early and go for a morning stroll."  
  
Professor Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, walked up to stand next to Snape. "Good morning, Ron. Sleep well?"  
  
Ron nodded. "You?"  
  
"Quite well, thank you," Dumbledore smiled. "No Ginny this year?"  
  
"Sleeping," Ron informed. "As is Harry. And I just kicked Hermione out of the common room to get some sleep in an actual bed."  
  
"And who's bed might that be?" Snape asked harshly.  
  
Ron sighed and rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, Professor Snape, because I'm having wildly passionate, dirty sex with the Head Girl. I have been since third year. We haven't been able to keep our hands off each other, even when she was dating Krum. And Harry gets in on it, too, when he pleases. In fact, the entire Gryffindor tower gets in on it, for one giant, magnificent orgy. We have so much fun, we invite your Slytherins over, sometimes, just because we can."  
  
Snape looked ready to snap.  
  
Dumbledore was holding back a chuckle, but his eyes laughed. "Go for your walk, Ron."  
  
He nodded and smiled at both professors, and walked the other way. As he did, he heard Snape mumble a "Cheeky little runt," to himself.   
  
Ron smirked. He was proud to say Snape no longer had any frightening affect on him. Snape could give out as many detentions as he pleased, and glare as much as he liked, but none of it would bother Ron anymore. He was too old for it.  
  
And far too experienced.   
  
He'd faced off with Death Eaters, and supposed killers, and spiders, and even Voldemort himself. All of these things were far more frightening than his Potions professor. Hell, asking Hermione to the Yule ball in sixth year had been more frightening than Snape.  
  
Hermione.  
  
Four years of fighting. One year of complete and utter denial, and half a year of almosts. He was amazed that it had taken so long for him to figure out just how he felt for the girl. He remembered Harry's words:  
  
"You stupid git! If you don't realize you want to snog the hell out of her before the Yule ball, I'm going to take my broom and beat you with it!"   
  
Ron asked her, and she'd accepted, but they never had a Yule ball. The war had made certain of that, and it had taken that war, and Harry's coaxing to bring them together as a couple.  
  
Harry.   
  
He hadn't always been so blunt. Actually, he'd only started to be blunt after he'd gone to live with his godfather. Which didn't surprise anyone. Sirius Black had a mouth the size of the Grand Canyon, and Harry had been living with the man for a couple of years. Harry still only spoke out when he was angry, but it was a more confident anger than it had been years ago.  
  
Defeating You-Know-Who will do that to you.   
  
He kicked himself. "Voldemort," he muttered to himself as he walked out of the castle. "Voldemort."  
  
The Death Eaters were no match for the older, more experienced version of The Order of the Phoenix. Especially when the Order members had their children at their sides.  
  
Not to mention many of the children of the Death Eaters themselves.   
  
Ron smirked, remembering how nearly the entire student body of Hogwarts had banded together to take on Voldemort and the Death Eaters when they attacked the school.  
  
Even Draco Malfoy, bastard that he was, held up his wand against what he'd been brought up to be.   
  
Ron hated to admit it, be he admired the Ferret-y git.  
  
"I don't care who I'm pissing off," Draco had said. "I don't give a shit. I am not a tool!"  
  
It still shocked Ron that none of the Death Eaters' children had betrayed the Order.   
  
He remembered the day he'd started to really trust Draco Malfoy as if it were yesterday.  
  
Harry had been captured by Voldemort's forces, and the Order's, specifically Sirius Black's, main goal was to save him.   
  
The plan was simple. Send Draco in as a traitor to the Order, with Ron as his apology to the dark lord.   
  
This plan, of course, didn't work at all.  
  
It had all worked out in the end. They saved Harry, but they angered many a Death Eater in the process.  
  
Not that he was complaining, mind. He loved pissing off Death Eaters. And he wasn't alone. Draco had made his father insanely angry, and loved every minute of it.   
  
The snow crunched underneath his boots, and he glanced around at the white abyss ahead of him, smiling.  
  
Last year's first snow had come in the middle of a major battle in Hogsmeade.   
  
Ron could almost see the blood in the snow in front of him.   
  
He, like Harry and Hermione, were not supposed to fight in that battle.  
  
Harry had decided to go, and Ron and Hermione refused to let him go in alone, as usual.  
  
Ron understood why no one wanted students at that battle. He'd never seen so much death before.   
  
He looked around one last time, nodded, satisfied, and walked back into the school.  
  
He began a slow saunter back to the Gryffindor portrait hole.  
  
"Ron?"  
  
He turned to find Professor Remus Lupin smiling at him.  
  
"Good morning, Professor Lupin."  
  
"Good morning," Lupin nodded. "You look quite frost-bitten."  
  
Ron shrugged. "Happens when you go walking in the snow."  
  
"I never understood that," Lupin told him. "Why do you do this every year?"  
  
Ron smiled. "Insanity," he replied, walking away. When he got to the portrait hole, the fat lady was glaring at him.  
  
"You're up to something."  
  
"Oh, am I?"  
  
"You never get up this early."  
  
Ron crossed his arms. "I've gotten up this early every year on the morning of the first snow! Aren't you used to it yet? Pegasus."   
  
The portrait hole opened, and Ron walked in to find Hermione's books abandoned. He smirked, and walked back up to his dorm room.  
  
He found things much the same.   
  
Except for the tiny detail of Hermione curled up under the covers next to Harry.  
  
Harry fought back a snicker. "Busted."  
  
"What's this, then?" Ron asked.  
  
"Well," Hermione explained, matter-of-factly. "I went to my bed, and it was cold, so I came here, and tried to sleep in your bed, because it was warm, but distracting."  
  
"Distracting?"  
  
"It smelled like you," Hermione added.  
  
Harry made a face.  
  
"So," She went on. "I decided to sleep with Harry. Warm, and not distracting. Besides, you never specified which bed I should sleep in."  
  
Ron took off his robes and scarf, leaving him in the thin t-shirt he slept in along with his slacks. "Right. Make way."  
  
"Oh, no," Hermione said.  
  
Ron made a running jump and landed in-between Harry and Hermione. "Hi." He leaned down and kissed the brunette on his right.  
  
Hermione wrapped an arm around him. "Hi."  
  
Harry muttered something.  
  
"You want a kiss, too?" Ron asked. He tried to lean forward to Harry. "Pucker up, Potter."  
  
"No," Harry replied. "You'll only use me for my body."  
  
"What's wrong with that?" Ron asked.  
  
Hermione hit him. "How was your walk?"  
  
"Fine," Ron replied. "Last one I'll ever have, here, I suppose."  
  
Harry sighed. "Hard to believe we're going to graduate after all that's happened. What next?"  
  
Hermione sighed as well. "There are so many choices… I could teach, I could work for the ministry…"  
  
"I've gotten an offer to be on the high Ministry council, right underneath the minister for magic… I've gotten owls requesting my presents at Quidditch try-outs… What about you, Ron?"  
  
"I've been accepted to the Auror Academy in London."  
  
His two friends blinked.  
  
"Auror Academy?" Hermione asked. "I didn't know you applied."  
  
Ron shrugged. "Didn't really think I'd make it in… guess they heard about my war efforts…"  
  
"You mean how you saved my arse, and beat the crap out of loads of Death Eaters?" Harry asked.  
  
"I had help," Ron protested.   
  
Harry sighed. "You always complain about not getting any credit, but you never take it when it comes your way anymore. I've the right mind to smack you."  
  
"Are you going to go?" Hermione asked, changing the subject.  
  
"I might," Ron replied. "I want to get through my seventh year first. I want to enjoy these last few months of Hogwarts."  
  
"Here, here," Harry voiced. "Let's worry about the future when it turns into the present. And presently, I'm hungry. And I'm obviously not going to get anymore sleep with this heaping Weasley practically lying on top of me."  
  
"Yeah, you like it," Ron joked.  
  
Harry rolled out of bed, showing off his striped pajama set. "Come on, let's go."  
  
"In your night clothes?" Hermione asked, also getting up.   
  
Harry shrugged. "I'm a seventh year. I'm a seventh year who defeated the dark lord. I don't give a damn."  
  
Hermione glared at his curse, but let it go. "Ron, aren't you hungry?"  
  
He looked up at her, his eyes wide with wonder. "Food?"  
  
"Yes, Ron. Food. Now get off your bum."  
  
Ron obediently got to his feet, and the three walked down to the great hall.   
  
They received many a stare from the other early risers, as they walked in.   
  
Ron. Tall, his red hair still sticking up, his pants loose without the support of a belt, his orange shirt hugging his torso lightly.  
  
Harry. Glasses crooked from being too tired to put them on right. His black hair laying flat, getting in his eyes. His striped blue and white pajamas looking comfortable.   
  
Hermione. Hair looking as it always had, frizzy and brown. She wore her blue night shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants.   
  
They sat together and ate.   
  
Outside, the tracks that Ron's boots had left were blown about and covered over with heavy cold snow. 


	2. Footprints 2: Just Thinking

Notes: Okay. This got a bit angsty. This is the stuff the Ron never mentioned. Why? Because I decided he was going to put things out of his mind.   
Disclaimer: Not mine. None of 'em. ::sigh:: oh well.   
  
Footprints 2: Just Thinking   
"Ron, slow down. Your food isn't going to run away from you."   
  
He glanced up at her and smirked and wiggled his eyebrows. "You never know, do you?"   
  
Harry couldn't help himself. He reached a hand out and began to slide Ron's full plate away from him, but the lanky red-head smacked the pale hand with his fork.   
  
"OW!"   
  
Hermione couldn't help it. She had to snicker. "And people say Ron and I act like an old married couple," she marveled, shaking her head, feeling her brown, frizzy hair shake as well.  
  
"You do," Harry replied, rubbing his scorned extremity. "Bloody hell, Ron! Don't hit so hard, I was only joking!"  
  
"Never joke about food!"   
  
Hermione looked from her best friend to her boyfriend. They continued to banter back and forth, but she lost track of their conversation. She wished she could say that they'd always been so happy. That nothing ever went wrong for them. That Harry's emerald, be-speckled eyes always glittered, and Ron always had a good-natured smirk on his freckled face.  
  
She couldn't. The memories of war, and bloodshed were still fresh in her mind, even though nearly a year had passed.   
  
She knew Harry and Ron never spoke of the war. They tried not to think about it, because it was in the past. It was done with, and there was nothing they could do to take back the events that had taken place. 'Why dwell on what we can't change?' Ron had asked her. Maybe it was a girl thing to dwell on what ifs.   
  
Her eyes wandered to Harry. No one could bring back his parents. No one could replace his horrible childhood. No one could tell him he didn't need the Muggle medication he took every morning. No one could take the death he had caused off of his hands. She remembered that day so clearly. The day they'd found him hunched over in the shadows, hands and arms dripping with blood. Blood smattered all over his face and glasses. She shivered inwardly at the memory of the look on Voldemort's lifeless face. Shocked.   
  
No Death Eater had been prepared for The Boy Who Lived to come after their Dark Lord with a meat cleaver.  
  
He'd become darker as he'd gotten older. He took things more seriously. He still joked around, but when he did, it was usually in small doses and on the bitter side. He'd faced death, and he'd been the death of his worst enemy, and it had affected him immensely. She knew that while he never mentioned his memories of the war, he thought about them. She could see it in his forever-haunted green eyes.   
  
Lazily, she let her eyes look upon Ron. No one could bring back his brother. No one could stop the crutiatis curse or Lucius Malfoy's pleased smirk from haunting his dreams. She couldn't count the times he'd shown up at the door of her dorm room late at night, shaking and looking terrified. She hated seeing him like that.   
  
During the day Ron was a very different person. So much more confident than his earlier school years. He had to be. His efforts had been essential for winning the war. Not only did his confidence win him standing in the Order of the Phoenix, but it earned him the title of co-captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, along with Harry. While Harry had destroyed the Dark Lord from the inside, Ron had worked hard in strategizing the Order and doing his part to win the war from the outside.   
  
Hermione wished she could take all the pain away for them. She knew that half of the time their smiles were fake. Then again, so were hers.   
  
She wished she could rid her mind of her own nightmares. Of her roommate's death. Of her father's murder. Of the war in general.  
  
She didn't see that she'd changed all that much in the course of her years at school. She still spent obscene amounts of time in the library. She still hated to hear her friends and boyfriend swear. She still read everything in sight. Ron and Harry had both assured her that she really had changed a lot. They said she'd become even smarter. That she had more of a sense of humor, and that even though she was Head Girl, she had loosened up a little.   
  
She was proud of making Head Girl. Even though her friends teased her a little for it, she had been ecstatic when she'd been informed of her standing.   
  
She noticed that Ron was giving her an odd look. "Mione-Love? Alright?"  
  
She didn't know why she was doing this. Normally, she wouldn't. Especially not in front of people at breakfast. She got to her feet, grabbed Ron by the collar of his thin, orange t-shirt, and dragged him across the table to press her lips against his.   
  
Harry rolled his eyes. "Some of us are trying to eat."  
  
"What's wrong, Potter? Feeling left out? Need a little love?"  
  
"Sod off."  
  
"Oh, come on, Potter, I only want to love you."  
  
"Oh, bloody hell."  
  
The blond teen launched himself at Harry. "Let me love you, orphan boy!"   
  
At the sound of Draco Malfoy's loud voice, Hermione let go of Ron and sat down. She cleared her throat and straightened out her night shirt. "Good morning, Draco."  
  
"Granger," Draco nodded, still clinging to Harry. "I see you're getting some good snogging in before even finishing breakfast."  
  
Since the war had ended Draco Malfoy had become much more light-hearted. She had no idea why. He'd lost so much during the war. Maybe he was just trying to forget it all. No one could blame him for that. The anniversary of his mother's death was coming up in the next week, and he'd refused to visit Azkaban to see his father, and with good reason. Hermione would have lost touch with her father, as well, if he'd killed her mother. But, then again, her father was dead.  
  
She blushed, and looked down at her plate of food, pushing dim thoughts from her mind.   
  
Ron blinked, completely dazed and dumb-founded. Glazed, blue eyes staring at Hermione in shock. "What's my name again?"  
  
"Now look what you've done!" Draco cried. "You've scrambled his brain!"   
  
"Malfoy, will you let go of me?!" Harry cried. "I don't even know if you've had your rabies shots recently!"  
  
"If he hasn't, then I'm in trouble."   
  
Ginny Weasley sat down next to Hermione, her red hair in pigtails, wearing a pair of green sweatpants with a brown sweater that had a large, golden 'C' on the front. She stared at her brother, who was still staring at Hermione. "What did you do to him?"  
  
"She shoved her tongue down his throat before he finished eating," Harry answered for his best friends. "I think it put him into shock."   
  
"Ron!" Ginny cried. "Chuddley Cannons!"   
  
His blue eyes seemed to become more alert, and he jumped slightly. "What? What? Where?"   
  
Draco blinked. "That's just… sad." He stared at Ron. "You're a sad, sad, boy."  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes, and patted the seat next to her. "Draco, leave Harry alone and come maul me. I don't mind."   
  
The bleached Slytherin's eyes lit up and he let go of the Boy Who Lived immediately. He got up on the table and hopped over to sit next to her, draping an arm around her. She snuggled into his chest and reached for the toast.   
  
Ron twitched.   
  
Hermione glared. "I saw that."   
  
Her boyfriend shrugged and poked at his food.   
  
It was painfully obvious the effect that Ron's sister's relationship with his former enemy had. Both Ron and Harry had beaten the living nightlights out of Draco the moment they'd found out. Ginny hadn't spoken to either of the Gryffindor boys for a week straight until both apologized to she and Draco. Grudgingly so, but they had apologized, and it was enough.  
  
Hermione sighed, remembering the endless years of verbal torment Draco Malfoy had inflicted on her. It had been so strange when he'd wound up on their side during the war. It had taken a long time for her to really accept him and trust that he was on their side. It had taken his protection of Ginny to convince her he wasn't going to turn, and he'd protected her with his life.   
  
Ron was convinced Draco wasn't going to turn, but Hermione doubted he'd ever be convinced that Draco would never hurt Ginny.  
  
And Hermione, herself had to agree, at least a little.   
  
"Damn. I'm the last one again!"   
  
A tall blond girl plopped herself into Harry's lap, and kissed him lightly. She wore and green tank-top with red and gold boxers that were obviously not hers.   
  
Harry lit up like a Christmas tree and wrapped his arms around the girl.   
  
"Hi, Blaise," Ginny said. "Sleep well?"  
  
She shrugged. "For awhile. But…" she glanced back at Harry. "That didn't last."  
  
Harry grinned.  
  
Ron and Draco threw down their forks simultaneously.   
  
"Completely ruined my appetite," Draco agreed. "Bloody hell!"  
  
"So much for breakfast," Ron muttered. "Thanks a lot, you two."  
  
Harry snorted and glared pointedly at Ron. "And your little snog-fest wasn't disgusting?"   
  
Ron's ears went as red as his hair and Hermione looked down.   
  
Blaise glanced sideways at Hermione. "Public snogfest? Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?"   
  
Hermione couldn't remember when it was exactly that Harry had starting dating Blaise Zabini, though she thought she should. They were such an unlikely pair. They'd never even looked at each other before the war, but apparently, they'd just clicked. It was strange having Blaise around so much.   
  
Sometimes she wished for the days when Draco and Blaise and Ginny weren't around. Running about, getting into loads of trouble. Well… it was more like Ron and Harry getting into trouble and Hermione trying to stop them. Eventually she learned there really was no stopping them, and to just go along with their plans, and stress caution, which was usually scoffed at or brushed aside.   
  
But as she looked at the people seated around her, she realized that this was really how it was supposed to be. It would always be the three of them on some level, but to not let other people in was ridiculous and in some ways selfish.   
  
Blaise reached over and waved a hand in front of her face. "Hermione? Where are you?"  
  
"She had that look on her face just before she licked the back of Ron's throat," Harry commented, disgusted. "Don't do that again, it was gross."  
  
Hermione shook out her head, realizing they were trying to talk to her. "What? Sorry."   
  
"You alright?" Ron asked, putting his fork down.   
  
"Yes, fine," she replied. "Just thinking, is all." She glanced out the frosty windows of the great hall at the falling snow. Ron loved the snow. She never understood him. It was too cold for her. She always told him he was probably cold-blooded, and probably should have been put into Slytherin because of it. He'd always tell her that if he had to walk down the stairs to see Malfoy and Pansy every morning, he'd turn his own wand on himself.   
  
She supposed there was one major reason she didn't like snow so much. Last's year's first snow had come in smack dab in the middle of a major battle during the war. So much had happened in that battle. So many dead. She remembered her Father's eyes remaining open as he fell from the Avada Kedavra, and gave a little shiver.  
  
"You sure?" Ron asked her. "Mione, you don't look so good, and you've been acting strangely all morning."  
  
"Don't baby me, Ron. I'm fine." She sighed. "In fact, I'm not very hungry anymore. I'm going to go study."  
  
Harry shook his head. "Come on, Mione. It's early, yet. You don't have to study now, do you?"  
  
She bit her bottom lip and stared at her plate. "I just…" 'Can't let go of things like you can…' she thought. She didn't say it.   
  
At that moment, a piece of bacon was flung at her, hitting her shoulder. She looked up to see Blaise readying another piece. She tossed it at Hermione. "Stop zoning out. It's annoying and you're scaring people."   
  
Hermione sighed. "Sorry… Maybe I'm still tired."  
  
Ron gave her his trademarked Weasley grin. "Wanna go back to bed?"   
  
She sighed and smirked at him. "Maybe later."   
  
And then it dawned on her.  
  
Later.  
  
There would be a later. Where a year ago, no one was quite sure that there would be a tomorrow. Everything was up in the air. Now,   
they had time to do anything. They had won. They had lived. The people sitting around her may have been scarred, and a little tainted, but safe, and as content as they could be.   
  
And, yes, she missed her father, and her friends, but she was there to sit at the table and eat, and talk to her friends and stare out the window at the falling snow.   
  
She smiled feeling a tiny bit of weight lifted off of her shoulders. "So… what are everyone's plans for Christmas?" 


	3. Footprints 3: Running Amuck

For some reason, I just love Draco. And I know a lot of other people love Draco. I know a lot of other people don't love Draco. I know that lots of people Love or Hate Ron. I love them both. That's right. I'm a two-timer. And I know Draco seems a bit OC, but I can't help it. I like him that way. J   
  
Footprints Three: Running Amuck   
  
It was dark that night.  
  
Just as dark, he realized, as the long nights during the war.  
  
The wind had picked up, mixing falling snow with the blanket of white that had already established itself the night before.   
  
He had no idea how cold it was outside. He was merely a spectator from the window of his dim dorm room.   
  
His girlfriend had mentioned that the youngest of her older brothers had a sixth sense about snow. He could tell it had snowed when he woke up without even a glance out the window.   
  
Useful tool, that.  
  
But Draco Malfoy found that a snowy morning was one of the only surprises he could tolerate.   
  
"What're you doing?" asked a deep voice behind him.   
  
He smirked at the sound of Vincent Crabbe's low, simple voice. "Plotting world domination," Draco replied absently.   
  
He heard the larger boy snort and walk out.  
  
It amazed him to no end how ridiculously shallow Crabbe and his equally large counterpart, Goyle, were. Even shallower than Draco himself, which was some feat.   
  
But then again, people had been telling him he'd become a little deeper since the war.  
  
The war.  
  
The war was almost a joke to him now. He'd been so worried, so stressed in fifth year when his father had taken him to his first Death Eater gathering.  
  
It was his last.  
  
Draco was bored… unimpressed. The Dark Lord, in his eyes, at least, wasn't as dark as all the hype portrayed him to be.  
  
The whole thing seemed like something out of a Muggle movie.  
  
It was almost… comical. A whole bunch of aging old men in masks, paying homage to a man who had so many wrinkles, he barely looked human.   
  
Out of curiosity, he'd attended a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.   
  
And it just made sense.   
  
He stayed with Dumbledore's forces, and he'd lived. Which was useful.   
  
Draco sighed and left his dorm. He walked down to the Slytherin common room to find a tall, thin blond girl throwing small, crumbled up pieces of parchment at a shorter, thinner blond.  
  
"Blaise?"   
  
The taller blond glanced up at him, her brown eyes questioning.   
  
"Why are you picking on Pansy? Again?"  
  
Blaise Zabini shrugged gracefully, crumpling up another piece of parchment in her thin, pale hands. "Easy target," she replied.  
  
Draco smirked, putting his hands in the pockets of his black slacks. "She is, isn't she?" He sighed.  
  
"Something wrong?" Blaise asked. "Missing your Juliet, Romeo?"   
  
Draco snorted. "You're one to talk, Captain of the SS Scarhead."  
  
"Don't make me put the slug hex on you," she warned. "You know I hate it when you call him that."  
  
"You don't know the slug hex."   
  
"Do so," Blaise replied, sounding a lot like an eight-year-old. "Ron taught me."  
  
Draco blinked. "Why?"  
  
"To use it on you, why else?" Blaise replied bluntly. "Now move. You're blocking my target."   
  
He stepped to the side, and watched as another piece of parchment hit Pansy in the head.   
  
The shorter blond finally flew to her feet, and advanced toward Blaise, who got up as well.   
  
"Bye, Draco," Blaise said, heading for the portrait hole. She disappeared through it, and Draco watched Pansy fume and sit back down.  
  
"What are you up to, then?" he asked her.  
  
"Like you care," she spat. "Why don't you go find your sweet little red-headed angel."  
  
Draco glared at her and stormed out of the portrait hole.  
  
She was still bitter. Draco had a feeling Pansy always would be. He'd broken up with her when the war started, because he found himself falling arse-backwards in love with Ginny Weasley.  
  
It had been very strange at first, awkward to be wit her around other people. But they learned to ignore the whispers and stares.  
  
When the war had gone into full swing, no one really cared anymore. The lines between houses were so blurred even the famous Harry Potter had fallen for a Slytherin.  
  
As for Pansy, Draco had tried to still be her friend, but she'd have none of that. With Pansy, it was always all or nothing.  
  
The halls were dimly lit, as it was getting late, and he stood in front of the Gryffindor portrait hole, which was, had always been and would probably always be guarded by The Fat lady.  
  
She stared at him judgmentally. "What are you doing here?" she asked.  
  
His lips twisted into a malicious grin. "Wouldn't you like to know."   
  
She snorted.  
  
"Oh," Draco said softly. "Are those bags I see under your eyes?"  
  
The Fat Lady screamed. "What?! Bags?! NO!"  
  
"Doesn't this ever get old for you?"  
  
Draco turned and smiled strongly at the Head Girl, Hermione Granger. Her arms carried a heavy stack of books and she gave him a fondly annoyed smirk. Her curly brown hair was pulled back into a half ponytail and her school uniform looked neat, as if she'd just put it on from being washed and pressed.   
  
"Never," he told her.  
  
"Come to see your lady fair?" Hermione asked.  
  
"You know it."  
  
"Plug your ears," she ordered. He did as he was told, knowing that she was giving the portrait the password, which he knew to be "sugar bombs." If the Head Girl found out that a Slytherin knew the password to the Gryffindor tower, she wouldn't be happy. Then again, as Head Girl, she really wasn't supposed to be letting him into the Gryffindor common room, especially not late at night.   
  
The girl had certainly changed. Draco blamed it on her relationship with Ron Weasley. Not that he minded. She was, after all, letting him in to see his girlfriend.  
  
The portrait hole opened slowly, and she led him into the Gryffindor common room, which was fairly quiet, sans two voices coming from the large, red couch in front of the blazing fireplace. One voice was fairly nasal and sharp, the other was very low.  
  
Draco smirked and made his way over to the couch. He leaned over and watched as Ron Weasley and Harry Potter did their divination homework.   
  
"I'm gonna drown in a giant toilet bowl!" Ron proclaimed, lifting one long, thick finger.   
  
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Hermione muttered, setting her things down on a table.   
  
Harry snorted and laughed, pushing his thick glasses up his nose. "I'm gonna… I'm gonna get strangled by a giant hamster!"  
  
He couldn't help it. It was just too easy. Potter had left himself wide open. Draco reached down, placed his hands around Harry's neck and squeezed slowly.  
  
"Will a giant ferret do?"   
  
Harry shot to his feet, wand out in a snap, breathing heavily, eyes wild. He blinked at Draco. "You ferrety bastard."   
  
Draco smirked. "You're such a girl. I still don't know what Blaise sees in you."  
  
Harry glared harshly, and sat back down.   
  
He knew he shouldn't have done it. Not this soon after the war, when paranoia was still at an all-time high. Especially for Potter. Then, again, Draco would probably be paranoid, too, if some maniac had been trying to kill him for seven years.  
  
"Oh, come on, Scarhead, it was a joke," Draco said.  
  
"Sod off, Goldilocks," Harry snapped.   
  
"Harry!" Hermione cried, offended by his words.   
  
Draco saw Ron's ears perk up, and the tall red-head glanced over the couch. "Was that Mione's scolding voice I just heard?"   
  
"Hello, Ron," she said, sitting down to do her homework.  
  
"Where've you been, then?" Harry asked, following Ron's line of sight to look at Hermione.  
  
"Meeting my secret lover," she replied casually, pulling out her parchment and quill.  
  
"Yes, and how is Madame Pince this fine evening?" Draco asked jokingly. "Or is it true that you snog the actual books in the library?"  
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow at the blond Slytherin. "Wouldn't you like to know."   
  
That was the last straw. He sighed, and ran a hand through his blond hair. "Right. I'll be in the girls' dorm."  
  
Hermione sighed. "Why am I letting you do this again?"  
  
"Because I'm a hot blond," Draco reasoned. "And you wouldn't deprive your future sister-in-law of a hot blond, would you?"  
  
"If MacGonagal sees you, I was too busy to notice you walk upstairs," Hermione said, and then stopped herself. "Future sister-in-law?"  
  
Draco laughed as he walked up the stairs to the girls' dorm, imagining the Head Girl and Gryffindor Quidditch Keeper turning red at his words. He loved being such a menace. He was so damned good at it. And Ron and Hermione were such easy targets.   
  
The girls' dorm was dark, but he knew the way to Ginny's room. He wasn't expecting to pass anyone in the hall, but there was no avoiding Lavender Brown.   
  
He gave her a kind smirk. "Hey, Brown."  
  
"Hi, Draco," she replied, brushing past him, her brown hair wet from a shower.   
  
He felt horrible for Lavender. She'd witnessed her best friend brutally slaughtered during the early years of the war, and it had affected her greatly. Where she'd been a little gossipy chatter-box, she was now a very quiet, solitary girl. As much as she used to annoy him, Draco had to admit he missed the way she used to be, if only because she didn't seem alive anymore.  
  
"Hey, Brown?" Draco called.  
  
She turned to him, eye curious.   
  
He paused for a moment. "…Goodnight."  
  
She waved, and disappeared down the hall.   
  
He shook his head and knocked on a door that was identical to all the other doors.  
  
It opened slowly, and small red-head opened it. Her hair hung down past her shoulders, and her brown eyes smiled up at him. She was wearing a pair of dark green pajamas.   
  
And then he realized that they were his.   
  
"How did you get those?" he asked in surprise, gently pulling at one of her sleeves.   
  
"I took them," she replied matter-of-factly, smiling. "Hello, to you, too."  
  
"Hi," he replied. "Are we going to stand here and banter, or are you going to let me in?"  
  
"What are you planning to do to me?" she asked with a snicker, backing into her room, leading him in.   
  
He shrugged. "Oh, you know. The usual." He backed her into her room, not paying attention to wood paneled walls or wooden floors. He almost tripped over the red and gold rug next to her bed. He backed her up against her bedpost, relieved that none of her roommates were around. He pressed his lips against hers, and she began to sit down on the bed, but jumped back up.  
  
He let her go with a look of confusion. "You alright, Gin?"  
  
She nodded, and looked down, picking up a large book. "Almost sat on this," she informed him.   
  
"Looks like one of Granger's books," Draco commented.  
  
Ginny smirked. "It is. Which is why it wouldn't do to sit on it."   
  
He took the hefty book from his girlfriend and snickered. "One of the many loves of Hermione Granger."  
  
Ginny snickered. "It's a wonder Ron doesn't leave her for his broom."  
  
Draco shook his head. "Why are we talking about your prat of a brother when I'm trying to kiss you?"  
  
"Don't call my brother a prat!" Ginny cried. "Only Hermione and I can call him a prat!"  
  
He shook his head, marveling at her ridiculous reasoning, standing in front of him, holding that large book, amazing hair, in his pajamas. He tried to lean in and kiss her again, but she giggled wildly and smacked him in the stomach with book. He grunted as he hit the ground, and blinked, very confused. It wasn't really that Ginny was stronger than he was, though she was quite strong. He just hadn't been expecting to be walloped with one of Hermione Granger's books.   
  
He wondered what had brought on this bout of immaturity, but she backed away from him, still giggling, heading for the door.   
  
Oh. Okay.   
  
Draco got on his hands and knees and gave her a feral look. "You're going to get it now." She squeaked and ran out the door.  
  
He would have chased after her, but he just didn't feel like it. Instead, he flopped himself down on her bed with a sigh, and looked at the book that was still lying on her red blanket. He lifted it up, and opened it to find that it wasn't a book at all. It was Ginny's photo album. He sighed and flipped to the first page, to find all the Weasleys smiling and waving up at him. It had obviously been taken a couple of years ago, since they all looked much younger, and much happier, and there were nine people instead of the eight that were left.   
  
He knew she'd been looking at the photo album a lot. He knew it meant a lot to her. He also knew she missed her older brother terribly. But Ginny never spoke of him, and she claimed she never really thought about him. Draco knew better.   
  
And then she sat on him, her brown eyes conveying amusement and a little anger. "That was a mean trick, Draco Malfoy," she accused.   
  
Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm a Slytherin, Ginny. I'm exhibiting normal behavior."  
  
She scoffed. "Normal?"   
  
"Get stuffed," he replied, turning the page of the photo album.  
  
"Why are you looking at that?" Ginny asked him curiously.   
  
"Cause it was out," Draco replied, glancing over the picture of Ron and Ginny dueling with spatulas in their family kitchen. They couldn't have been older than eight and nine. "Why? You not want me to look at it?"   
  
"I didn't think you'd be interested," she admitted. "These go back far before I ever even knew you existed."   
  
"How it must have pained you not to know me," he said overdramatically.   
  
She kissed his nose and snickered. "Yes. I was a miserable little twit before you shined your over-bearing, absolutely annoying light into my life." She slid off of him and snuggled next to him on the big four-poster, and pointed out pictures, and told him stories about her family's life before the war, and when they'd gone through the entire album, she looked up at him.   
  
"Draco?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"What are you planning to do after you leave Hogwarts?"   
  
He blinked. Of all the questions she could have asked, this was the one he wasn't prepared for. He'd mulled it over himself a number of times, and he'd thought about what he'd like to do, and what he was capable of doing, and nothing really stuck out to him. Nothing at all.   
  
"Why?" he asked her warily.  
  
"I'm just curious," Ginny replied. "Harry's been talking about it a lot lately, says he might work for the ministry."  
  
Draco blinked, puzzled. "They're going to let him work at the ministry? Have you any idea how much Muggle medication that boy is on?"  
  
"Just answer the question, Draco."   
  
"Well… I don't know what I wanna do. What do you think I should do?" he asked her.  
  
"Well… you could be a Quidditch player," she offered.  
  
"That was a dream that was kicked in the balls when I played with your brothers," he told her. It was true. Her older brothers had really trounced him.   
  
"You could… apply for a ministry job," she went on.  
  
"No. Just… no."   
  
"You could teach?"  
  
He blinked. "Without killing my students?"  
  
"Good point." She sighed. "Draco, what do you want to do?"  
  
"Be a Lumberjack?"   
  
She raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Sorry," he said. "Muggle reference I picked up off of Granger and Finnighan the other day."   
  
"You? Muggle reference?" Ginny asked, clutching at her heart. "I think I'm gonna have a cardiac!"   
  
He snickered. "Yeah. Seamus got up on a table during lunch and recited this whole thing about being a lumberjack and dressing up like a girl and hanging around in bars. The whole thing was very interesting."   
  
Ginny sighed. "So… I don't know… maybe you could be an Auror?"  
  
He shrugged. "That's a possibility. I don't know, Ginny. I just haven't been thinking about it much." He glanced at her. "Is something wrong?"  
  
"I just don't want you to leave here and not know what to do with yourself, is all," she explained, scratching his stomach comfortingly.   
  
"It isn't as if I'm going to be living on the streets," he reminded her, closing the photo album. "I did inherit the Malfoy estate and everything that comes with it."   
  
"I know, but you can't just sit around in that house for the rest of your life, can you?" she asked. "You've got to have something."  
  
Draco sighed, and rolled onto his side to face her. "If it means so much to you, I'll apply for Auror Academy."  
  
"No," she replied. "I want you to do what you want to do."  
  
"But I don't know what I want to do," he reminded her. "Ginny, I have plenty of time to figure things out. Don't worry about me. I've got everything under control."   
  
He really did. He honestly wasn't worried about his uncertain future. It would be certain when it showed itself to him. He had more pressing things to think about, like classes, and the up-coming Yule Ball, and imagining Ginny without any clothing on.  
  
She blinked at him and he became aware of the lopsided grin on his face. "You're imagining me naked, aren't you?" she asked with a giggle.  
  
He laughed and pinned her beneath him. "Now you read minds? I knew you were amazing, but this is new."   
  
She sighed and wrapped her arms around him. "Are you sure you're not going to completely shut down after Hogwarts and become a grouchy hermit or anything?"   
  
Draco raised an eyebrow. "I'm always grouchy," he reminded her. "But I'll never become a hermit. I promise." He kissed her deeply, and she sighed contentedly.  
  
Screw the future, he liked to live in the now, where he was snogging the pretty red head underneath him.  
  
In fact, screw everyone. 


	4. Stumble and Catch

Note: This takes place nearing the end of sixth year, before the other stories happened. From here on the order of the stories is screwy just cause I feel like it.   
Disclaimer: NOT MINE!  
  
The Footprints of Love: Harry and Blaise: Too Drunk to Fuck   
  
He stumbled down the steps to the Slytherin dungeons and was stared at curiously by many a house member.  
  
When he reached the door to the sixth-year girls' dorm, he ran into a blond.  
  
But not the blond he was expecting.  
  
He blinked. "You're not Pansy."  
  
The blond girl, Blaise Zabini, rolled her eyes. "Thank you for noticing, Potter. What the hell are you doing down here?"   
  
"Came t' meet Pansy," the boy who lived replied.   
  
Blaise crossed her long arms and raised an eyebrow at the obviously inebriated boy. "She got you drunk, did she?"   
  
"Dunker 'n th' day is long," Harry announced loudly.  
  
She sighed and took the Gryffindor by the arm. "Why don't you sit down for a moment. I can't believe she actual thought this would work. You know she was planning to seduce you tonight, yes?"  
  
"Yep," Harry nodded.  
  
"You know she's only doing it to get back at Draco for leaving her for Ginny Weasley, yes?"  
  
"Yes."   
  
She sighed again, as she led him into her dorm room, and sat him down slowly on her bed. "you know you'd regret it in the morning, right?"   
  
Harry cast his hazy green eyes to the floor.   
  
"Harry?"   
  
"Yer right, 'course," he replied finally. He laid back on her bed. "M just drunk, I guess."   
  
She sat down next to him. "No excuse. You hate Pansy… why would you-" she stopped and stared at him. "It's the war, isn't it?"   
  
He looked up at her. "Huh?"  
  
"You were gonna do this to try and forget for awhile… You would screw Pansy Parkinson just to forget about Voldemort."  
  
He sat up and stared at her. "You said his name."  
  
Blaise smirked. "No one in Slytherin gives a toss, remember?"   
  
"M, Drunk, remember?" he asked stupidly.  
  
"Harry," She giggled. "You can't be that drunk."   
  
He ran a hand through his hair. "Drunk enough to want to sleep with Pansy… sober enough to realize you're right… and smart… and hot."   
  
"Now, I know you're drunk," Blaise replied. "Hitting on two Slytherin girls in one night."  
  
"You are smart," Harry said. "Smart enough to see right through me."   
  
"Oh, you're not so tough to sum up."  
  
"Shallow, then, am I?" he joked.  
  
"How is it that you can be so drunk, but still carry on a decent banter?" Blaise asked.  
  
"You think this is impressive, you should see Hermione Granger," Harry snickered. "But you are smart. And really, very attractive."   
  
"Bet you say that to every girl what tries to help you out of a drunk stupor," Blaise replied. She started to get up, but he pulled her back down by the arm, and into a kiss.   
  
Her rational thought shut down on impact. For a few moments, she forgot he was drunk, and that Pansy may burst through the door at any moment, and that she really ought not do this.  
  
A few moments was all it took for Harry to have her lying down as he kissed her.  
  
And then the alarms went off in her head, and she shoved him off and sat up.   
  
He gave her a hurt, confused look.  
  
"Maybe we'll continue this if you feel this way when you're sober," she told him.  
  
Harry stared for a moment and sighed. "You're right," he told her. He got up unsteadily. "Yer right. 'M sorry, this was wrong of me. I'll go." He wobbled to the door, but Blaise groaned.  
  
"Harry, stay here, you can barely walk," she pointed out.  
  
"An' risk further humiliation?" He asked. "I don't think so." He turned to the door, and promptly slammed into it, and fell on his behind.   
  
Blaise shook her head. "You have to open the door first, Potter." She got off the bed, and hauled him to his feet. "Just sleep here. You can go back to your tower in the morning." She helped him to sit on the bed again. "Are you alright?"  
  
The door busted open, and Pansy stormed in.   
  
"See?" Blaise said. "That's how you open the door."   
  
Pansy glared at her roommate upon seeing Harry sitting on the bed.  
  
"Good evening, Pansy," Blaise said plainly.   
  
"What do you think you're doing?" Pansy barked.  
  
"Making certain Potter doesn't do anything stupid," Blaise replied, refraining from adding 'like you' at the end of her sentence.   
  
Harry looked from one blond to the other.   
  
Blaise. Nearly as tall as he was, thin and lithe, with thick golden blond hair, steely gray eyes, and a sharp mind. Her button-down white shirt open, revealing an equally white tank-top, wearing a pair of green boxer shorts and her knee socks.   
  
Pansy. Short, thin as a rail, with pale skin and white blond hair, making her ocean-blue eyes stick out. Thick as a brick. Her black shirt seemed skin-tight, and her green skirt was very short, she still wore a nice pair of heels.   
  
"Out, Blaise," Pansy snapped.  
  
"It's my room, as well, Pansy," Blaise bit. "And I won't leave you to make Harry an even bigger mess than he already is. You've done enough."  
  
Pansy glanced at Harry. "What do you want, Potter?" she asked seductively, lifting a bare leg onto the bed next to Harry.  
  
Blaise groaned. "Tart."   
  
Harry glanced back at Blaise, and then Pansy, but ultimately back at Blaise.   
  
"Blaise?"  
  
"Yes, Harry?"  
  
"Think 'm gonna toss."  
  
She sighed and handed him the small waste basket which he promptly threw up into. Blaise crossed her arms again, and Pansy glared, before storming out. Blaise sat down next to Harry, who looked up from the trashcan.   
  
"She gone?"  
  
Blaise nodded. "Yeah."  
  
"Good," Harry replied, tossing the can on the floor.   
  
Blaise glanced at the discarded basket, and realized it was completely empty. Not a single drop of regurgitation had made its way from Harry's mouth.   
  
"You-"  
  
"Faked it," Harry replied.   
  
She smiled.  
The Next Morning…  
  
Harry Potter stumbled slowly up to the Gryffindor portrait hole, silently wracking his brain for the password.  
  
"Well," the Fat Lady snapped harshly. "Where have you been all night?"  
  
Not only was wracking his brain for the password hurting Harry's head, but the painting's harsh voice was making it worse. Add in the fact that trying to remember the events of the previous night was making his head absolutely throb, and his head might as well have exploded then and there.   
  
A light went on in his head, hurting his eyes as he remembered the password.   
  
He flipped the painting his middle finger and said "Stardust."   
  
The Fat Lady, appalled by sixteen-year-old's gesture, opened up with a sound of indignation.   
  
Harry sighed and stumbled into the Common room, where Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Prefect, and one of Harry's best friends, sat on the couch with her homework.  
  
"Harry!" She cried, getting up. "Where have you been?! Ron, Ginny and I have been worried sick! We tried to find you when we were leaving Hogsmeade last night, and-"  
  
Harry snatched at his head and shook it gently. "Not so loud, Hermione," he muttered.   
  
"Harry, have you been drinking?" she asked.  
  
He nodded. "I think so."  
  
"Where did you wake up this morning?" Hermione asked, putting a hand through his black hair. "You look awful."   
  
"Thank you," he bit sharply, but regretted it immediately. "Sorry… I didn't mean to do that. It's been a weird, weird morning. I'm going upstairs."   
  
She nodded, and watched him walk up to the boys' dorm.   
  
He walked into his room to find his other best friend, Ron Weasley , sitting on his bed, surrounded by homework. "Oi, Harry," Ron said, looking up with questioning blue eyes. "Where the hell have you been?"   
  
Harry sighed and threw himself on his four-poster. "I don't know if you'd believe me if I told you."   
  
"Try me," Ron smirked. "You look horrible, by the way."   
  
Harry looked over from his bed to his mirror. He did, indeed, look terrible. His black hair was even more disheveled than normal. His thick glasses were crooked, and his green eyes were glazed over. He was missing the sweater he recalled wearing the day before and was left in wrinkled, black slacks, which, he noticed finally, were unzipped, and an equally wrinkled white t-shirt.   
  
He glanced over at Ron. Clean, red hair, falling in his huge blue eyes, wearing nearly the same outfit as Harry, except that his t-shirt was black, and his clothing wasn't as wrinkled.   
  
"I think I slept with Blaise last night."   
  
Ron stopped scribbling on his parchment and gave his best friend the look of the confused Weasley. "What?"   
  
"I woke up this morning in the Slytherin sixth-year girls' dorm."  
  
"You sure you didn't sleep with Pansy?" Ron asked with a slight snort.   
  
Harry turned a glare on his best friend. "I woke up on Blaise's bed."  
  
Ron snickered. "I told you," he said with a shake of his head. "I told you if you drank too much you'd regret it."   
  
"Oi!" Harry cried. "You drank just as much last night!"   
  
"The difference is that I can hold my bloody liquor," Ron replied. "And even if I couldn't, I'd have Hermione to help me stumble up to bed."   
  
"Or take advantage of you," Harry muttered. "Whichever came to mind first."  
  
A very annoyed throat cleared itself, and Harry looked up to see Hermione standing in the doorway.  
  
"Well, if it isn't the scarlet woman, herself," Ron snickered.   
  
She rolled her eyes, and sat on his bed. "So… who do you think you slept with?" She asked Harry.  
  
"Blaise Zabini," both boys replied at once.   
  
"That's not so bad," Hermione commented. "Could be worse. You could have slept with Pansy."  
  
Harry glared. "Thank you."   
  
"So when are you going to talk to her?" Hermione asked.  
  
"Never," Harry replied.  
  
Ron blinked. "Huh?"  
  
"This is just too embarrassing," Harry explained. "I figure if I never speak to her again, it'll never come up, and I can forget about it."   
  
Hermione shook her head. "Won't work, and you know it."   
  
"I can try," Harry snapped.   
  
  
And so Harry Potter spent his entire week avoiding and ignoring Blaise Zabini the best he could. She tried to speak with him, but he wouldn't have it.   
  
Until Friday.   
  
He was the last one in the astronomy tower after Professor Sinistra's last class, packing his belongings up when she walked in, and stood in front of his desk.   
  
He looked up at her, and immediately looked back down.   
  
"Harry."   
  
"Hm?"   
  
"Why are you avoiding me?"   
  
"I'm not avoiding you," Harry replied.   
  
"When was the last time we spoke, Harry?" Blaise asked.   
  
"Last weekend, I suppose," Harry muttered, turning quite red, rising to his feet.   
  
"Yes, that sounds about right," Blaise replied. "Now… why is that, I wonder?"   
  
"Because… I don't see you very often?" Harry offered nervously.   
  
"No, Harry Potter, I don't think that's it," she said, poking his harshly in the chest with a long, perfect finger.  
  
"Well, it is a bit awkward, isn't it?" Harry blurted out, his voice cracking just enough to convey his Jumpiness.   
  
She blinked, and raised an eyebrow. "What's awkward?"   
  
"Well… last weekend… the night we…"   
  
She shook her head. "Wait… what are you- oh." She took a step back. "Oh!" She smiled. "Harry, we didn't do anything. You passed out in my room. Nothing happened."  
  
She mentally kicked herself for lying. She should have told him.   
  
"Oh," he said, turning even redder. "Oh, bloody hell. That's such a relief. Thank Merlin."   
  
Her smile fell quickly, and the look she gave him was obviously an insulted one.   
  
Oops.  
  
"Why is that such a relief, Potter?" she asked. "What, the Slytherin girl not good enough for you, is that it?"   
  
Harry sputtered. "I… you… we… it's… I…"   
  
She glared harshly. Those huge gray eyes like boiling acid being dropped onto his head. "Today, Potter."   
  
"Well, it would have been a mess!" Harry cried. "I was really bloody drunk, Blaise! It's not that you're not…" he trailed off, his face was starting to turn the color of Ron's jumper. "I mean it's… you're… really… verymuchanicepersonandI'dhatetoloseyouasafriendover…That!"  
  
She stared at him.  
  
"And thank you… for not letting me do anything stupid," he said, finally. "Or… anyone stupid… the one thing I do remember is who got me that drunk in the first place."   
  
She smiled slightly and shifted her bag on her shoulder and began to walk away. "Good-bye, Harry."   
  
He sighed. "Blaise, wait."   
  
She stopped, and turned to him curiously.   
  
"Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?"   
  
She smirked at him and shrugged. "Yeah, alright." 


	5. Disease

Summary: The Summer after 6th year and the final battle… Harry fall and gets up again.  
  
Notes: Takes place before the first three, and after Too Drunk and Old Fashioned.  
  
Disclaimer: NOT MINE!!   
  
Disease   
  
A bright red corvette drove up to the front of number four privet drive on a cloudy day in late June.   
  
Dudley looked out the window, through the white curtains quite confused until a tall, thin blond stepped out, one high heel at a time and began a leisurely trek to the front door.   
  
Her shirt was button-down and green, and her jeans were blue and form-fitting. She took off dark shades as she reached the door.   
  
  
  
"Bloody hell," Dudley muttered. He rushed to the door before the girl could ring the bell and swung it open.   
  
She looked a little startled, raising a thin eyebrow at him.   
  
Dudley tried his best to be suave. He straightened his posture and tried to smooth out his wrinkled t-shirt and khakis. He smiled. "Hello."   
  
"Hello…" the girl replied cautiously. She gave the over-grown boy an once-over and cleared her throat. "I'm here for Harry Potter?"   
  
Dudley's face fell. "Oh…" He tried to look hopeful. "Are you sure?"   
  
  
  
She nodded.   
  
His expression fell again and he turned toward the staircase. "POTTER!! DOOR!!"   
  
She heard the echo of an exasperated sigh and then footsteps as she walked inside the painfully normal house.   
  
She smiled when she saw him at the top of the stairs. He was of normal height, for a boy of sixteen-going-on-seventeen, with dark, messy (sexy) hair and bright green eyes that hid behind thick glasses. She knew that somewhere underneath the baggy shirt and jeans was soft, yet toned muscle left over from the war.   
  
He was staring right back at her.   
  
Dudley rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, and both snapped out of their stares.   
  
Harry stepped down the blue carpeted stairs slowly, walking to her. "I… I thought Sirius was coming…"   
  
She smiled. "Meeting. He asked me to."   
  
Dudley cleared his throat again.   
  
"Oh... uh… Blaise, this is Dudley, my cousin…" His eyes never left her gray-blue ones. "Dudley, this is Blaise, my girlfriend."   
  
Dudley scoffed. "You have a girlfriend?"   
  
Harry didn't reply, only nodded, still looking at Blaise. He ran a hand across her cheek and down to her shoulder.   
  
Dudley shook his head. "You're dating him?"   
  
  
  
Blaise smirked. "Hot, isn't he?"   
  
"Ugh!" Dudley cried in disgust. "Him?!"   
  
She glanced at Dudley and then back at Harry and started to kiss the boy who lived deeply, wrapping her arms around him and a leg, just for good measure.   
  
Dudley watched, horrified.   
  
After a few moments, Harry pulled away from Blaise and looked at Dudley. "Scuse us. Private moment."   
  
"Get a room," Dudley spat.   
  
Harry shrugged and took Blaise's hand. "If you insist." He led her up the stairs and Dudley heard a door close. A moment later he could hear the bed creaking.   
  
His eyes widened. "MUM!!"   
  
----  
  
"You think he's buying it?"   
  
Harry shrugged as he continued to jump on his bed, scattering the red blanket a little. The pillow gave a small hop with every jump he took. "He's thick enough."   
  
Blaise laughed from her spot on the wooden floor. "Shall I scream for good measure?"   
  
Harry laughed and turned slightly red. "Couldn't hurt."   
  
She giggled loudly and said: "Ooooh, Harry! You Stallion!"  
  
They both laughed, until the door swung open forcefully and Vernon Dursley stepped in. "What is the meaning of this?!"   
  
Harry stopped jumping, almost losing his footing, but managing to stay upright. "What?"   
  
Vernon glared daggers at his nephew. "Don't play games with me, boy. I know what you were doing!"   
  
Harry raised an eyebrow and looked from his Uncle to Blaise. "Jumping on the bed?"   
  
Vernon cleared his throat, turning slightly redder than his normal skin tone. "Y-yes… stop… it makes noise."   
  
  
  
"What kind of noise?" Harry asked with a slight laugh. "Sexy noise?"   
  
Vernon growled, clenching his fists.   
  
Harry smiled. "Does it turn you on?"   
  
"Boy…"   
  
"Don't worry. I won't tell Aunt Petunia."   
  
Vernon gritted his teeth. "If you're going to leave, leave."   
  
Harry hopped off the bed with a shrug and gathered up his trunk. "Fine…" He blew Vernon a kiss and walked out, with Blaise behind him, carrying Hedwig in her cage.   
  
She paid him no attention and that didn't surprise Harry in the least. Dursley was beneath her. Blaise was, after all, a Slytherin. She wouldn't waste her breathe or her time.   
  
They walked down the steps, Blaise helping him with his trunk on the way to the door.   
  
  
  
Harry sighed and looked at Petunia, who had come to stand in the kitchen doorway, Vernon at the top of the stairs, and Dudley, in the living room. "I'm grateful," Harry said lowly. "For the roof you put over my head… the food you gave me… the clothing… but by Merlin I hate you. All of you. You're the only family I knew for nearly my entire life, and I hate you. I hope I never see you again. And I'm sure the feeling is mutual." He took Blaise's hand and stepped out the door with her, dragging his trunk behind him.   
  
He didn't look back.   
  
They loaded his things into the trunk of her car, and put Hedwig in the backseat, got in and drove off.   
  
"How does it feel?" she asked as she pressed her foot on the gas pedal.   
  
He sighed loudly, leaning his head back against his seat. "Strange. Good, but strange."   
  
She smiled, but kept her eyes on the road. "I've missed you."   
  
He smiled at her. "It's only been a week."   
  
"So?"   
  
His smile dimmed a little and he sighed again. "Spoken to Ron?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Hermione?"   
  
  
  
"Mhm."   
  
"Gin and Draco?"   
  
She nodded. "Have you?"   
  
He shook his head. "Haven't left my room all week."   
  
Blaise frowned. "Harry…"   
  
He shrugged. "Whatever."   
  
"He forgives you, you know."   
  
"He shouldn't."   
  
"He does. He's your best friend."   
  
Harry didn't reply.   
  
"Please, Harry. Don't do this."   
  
"Do what?"   
  
"Shut down."   
  
"I'm not."   
  
"You are, Harry."   
  
"I stabbed him."   
  
"You weren't in your head."   
  
"Then whose head was I in, Blaise? Fifth year? I would never have done what I did. Never have lost it like that."   
  
"I'm stopping the car."   
  
"You do that."   
  
She sighed and pulled over to the side of the road. "A lot of things happened to you last year that shouldn't have. A lot of things happened to you that I hate."   
  
  
  
He didn't look at her.  
  
  
  
"After Ron and Draco brought you back from Riddle House that first time… you changed. You weren't you… you barely acted human. And after the final fight…"   
  
"Sorry," he snapped.   
  
She shook her head. "I'm not looking for an apology. I'm saying… maybe… maybe you need help."   
  
He finally looked up at her quizzically. "What kind of help?"   
  
She sighed and took his hand. "Maybe… a therapist…?"   
  
He jerked his hand from her gentle grasp. "'M not sick."   
  
Her eyes became hurt. "Harry…"   
  
"No, Blaise," he told her, shaking his head. "No."   
  
She nodded slowly, still staring at him.   
  
He sighed. "Can we just get to Sirius'?"   
  
She nodded again, and turned away from him. She put her shades on and started up the car again.   
  
When they reached the small house, Blaise stopped. "Need help?"   
  
He shook his head. "No. Thank you." He got out and gathered his things and walked off without looking back.   
  
----  
  
He'd been sitting in his room the entire summer holiday. He only came out to shower, pee and eat.  
  
And Sirius Black was sick of it. Sirius Black'd be damned if he sat back and watched his godson turn into a vegetable. Remus had ordered Sirius to give the boy space and time because he was hurting and confused.   
  
Sirius Black had given the boy nearly an entire summer to bounce back, but nothing had changed.   
  
It was time to do something.  
  
"Harry? May I see you, please?"   
  
It took a few moments, but he finally walked into the kitchen, wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of blue boxer shorts. His black hair was messy. Well, it was always messy, but this was ridiculous.  
  
"It's three in the afternoon, Harry," Sirius pointed out calmly. "Why don't you get dressed and we'll go out."  
  
"No, thanks," Harry muttered darkly. He began to turn back to the stairs.   
  
"What's wrong?" Sirius asked. "Sick?"  
  
He knew that saying that was a bad idea. He knew that the proverbial shit was about to his the Muggle fan.  
  
It was about bloody time.  
  
Harry didn't turn to face his godfather. "I'm not sick."  
  
"Well, if you don't want to go out," Sirius replied, "you must not feel well."  
  
"I feel fine," Harry snapped quickly.   
  
"Well, then let's go out," Sirius said.  
  
"I don't want to," Harry growled, finally turning to face the older man.  
  
"Then you must be sick."  
  
"I'm not!" Harry cried.  
  
"Then what is it, Harry?" Sirius asked. "You've barely left this house in three months, you don't answer your owls or even read them." Sirius got to his feet. "Let me check your temperature."  
  
Harry stepped back toward the sink.   
  
"Harry, I only want to help you."  
  
"I don't need help! I'm not…" He looked around frantically before picking up a dish from the full sink and hurling it violently to the floor in front of Sirius' feet.   
  
They stood in silence for a long, solid moment.  
  
The boy blinked behind his glasses, staring down in shock at the shattered remains of the white porcelain plate. The small blue design that had adorned the rim was now in a million pieces.   
  
Sirius remained silent.   
  
After another very long moment, Harry looked up at him. "Sirius?" he said in a small voice that made him sound six rather than sixteen.   
  
"Yes, Harry?"  
  
"I think I'm sick."   
  
----  
  
Sirius walked through the barrier for Platform nine and three quarters and sighed. "Well, Harry, this is it."   
  
Harry nodded and hugged his godfather. "I'll see you at Christmas."   
  
"Yes, you will," Sirius nodded, hugging back. "Don't be too awful for Moony, Aye?"   
  
  
  
Harry nodded and looked into the older man's eyes. "Thank you… for everything."   
  
Sirius smiled. "Hey," he said gruffly, mussing his godson's hair. "What are crazy, ex-convict canine godfathers for?"   
  
Harry laughed and waved as Sirius walked off. He walked through the sea of students and parents and spotted the unmistakable red hair of his best friend, standing near the train. He sighed, squared his shoulders, and walked to stand next to him.   
  
"Ron."   
  
"Harry."   
  
"How was your holiday?"   
  
Ron shrugged. "Yours?"   
  
Harry shrugged back. "Listen… I… I'm so-"   
  
"S'okay, Harry."   
  
Harry blinked and looked up into the smiling face of Ron Weasley. "It… it is?"   
  
Ron nodded.   
  
  
  
"Oh… okay…" He shifted slightly. "I've been getting help… the mental kind. For my… mentalness."   
  
Ron nodded again. "So you're doing okay, then?"   
  
Harry nodded. "Yeah. I am… how are you?"  
  
"Good," Ron replied. "Worked at rebuilding the Burrow most of the summer… helped me regain a lot of strength after-" He stopped, and they stood in silence.   
  
Finally, Ron gave his best friend a quizzical look. "Why didn't you answer any of my owls, you right bastard?"   
  
Harry shrugged and looked down. "I-"   
  
He didn't get to finish. He was attacked by a mess of curly brown hair.  
  
"Ooh, Harry! We've been worried sick! Where have you been all summer? I've owled a million times and-"   
  
"Hi, Hermione."   
  
She pulled back from hugging him and slimed. "Are you alright?"   
  
He sighed and smiled back. "You know what? I really am."   
  
They boarded the train, the three of them, and looked for an empty compartment.   
  
Harry looked into one that had one occupant, and stopped.   
  
Ron patted him on the shoulder. "Go for it, Mate."   
  
Harry nodded and walked in. He sat across from her and she looked out the window.   
  
"Listen… Blaise… I… I'm sorry. You were right. I know that now."   
  
She didn't reply.   
  
"I should have listened to you that day… in the car, but I was so… determined to bury everything that I just-"   
  
"You think I'm upset about that?"   
  
He stared.   
  
"You didn't say goodbye that day… you didn't… return any of my owls, or anything."   
  
He sighed. "Blaise, I didn't read any of your owls… or Ron's, or Hermione's… I wanted to shut the world out."  
  
She gave him a sour look. "Well, congratulations. You succeeded."   
  
  
  
"I'm sorry."   
  
"You should be. What you did really hurt."   
  
"I missed you."   
  
"So why didn't you write?"   
  
He sighed. "When I finally got it through my head that I needed help, I… I didn't want to talk to you or see you until I was better. I didn't want you to see me like that."   
  
Her expression softened. "Oh, Harry."   
  
"I'm so sorry I hurt you," he told her, taking her hand.  
  
She nodded. "Sorry I'm a bitch."   
  
He shrugged with a smile. "You're a Slytherin. It's inevitable."   
  
She laughed and pushed him and he pulled her with him and kissed her.   
  
At that moment, the compartment door slid open.   
  
"Oh, fucking hell, Potter! I'm blind!"   
  
Harry laughed and let go of Blaise. "Lo, Malfoy."   
  
"Can't believe the two of you…"   
  
Blaise shrugged with a smirk. "Jealous?"   
  
"No."   
  
Harry snickered. "I think he is."   
  
  
  
"what?!" Draco cried.   
  
Harry got up and walked to Malfoy quickly and kissed him dead on the lips.   
  
The door slid opened again and Ron screamed and slammed it shut.   
  
The two boys jumped back from each other and Harry and Blaise both burst into laughter.   
  
"Ugh!" Draco growled. "I've got Potty taste in my mouth!"   
  
Harry smiled. "You know you like it."   
  
"What's gotten into you, Scarhead… Ugh..." He wiped his mouth and sputtered a little.   
  
Harry shrugged with a smirk. "Must be the medication." 


	6. Foot Prints of Love: Just an Old Fashion...

Disclaimer: Not mine!!   
  
Author's Notes: Takes place probably two months before "Too Drunk To…"   
  
Spoilers: Any. Beware.  
  
Rating: R for naughty words   
  
Footprints of Love: Ron and Hermione: Just an Old Fashioned Love Song  
  
It was the most fascinating thing Neville Longbottom had ever seen.   
  
Seriously.   
  
His roommate, Ronald Weasley was six feet in height, thin, but fairly muscular in build, with bright red hair.   
  
  
  
And he was ramming himself against their dorm room wall.   
  
  
  
Repeatedly.   
  
  
  
Two of Neville's other roommates, Seamus Finnighan and Dean Thomas, sat next to him on his bed, also staring at their fiery-haired comrade as he indulged in some mild masochism.   
  
  
  
The door opened, and another young man walked in, his black hair messy. He blinked behind his thick, black glasses.   
  
  
  
"Ron?"   
  
  
  
The redhead didn't stop. "What?"  
  
  
  
"Why in the hell are you flinging yourself against the wall?"   
  
  
  
Ron didn't reply.   
  
  
  
Neville looked up. "Hi, Harry."   
  
  
  
Harry Potter's green eyes glimpsed Neville, Dean and Seamus, and he nodded. "What the fuck is this about, then?"   
  
"He's had an epiphany," Seamus replied in his thick Irish accent.   
  
  
  
"Oh?" Harry asked.   
  
  
  
Dean nodded. "He woke up this morning and realized that he loves Hermione."   
  
  
  
Harry's eyes narrowed and he thought about this for a long time. Eventually, his solemn expression lightened and his lips curled up into an extremely amused smile. He laughed. "Ron!"   
  
  
  
"What?" Ron growled, throwing himself against the wall again.   
  
  
  
"You love Hermione!"  
  
  
  
The taller boy didn't reply.   
  
  
  
"Why are you losing brain cells?!" Harry asked, still laughing.  
  
  
  
"Because I'm trying to make it go away!"   
  
  
  
This only made Harry laugh harder, which made Ron stop hurling himself against the cold stone. "What's funny, then, ay?" he asked with a glare.   
  
  
  
"You!" Harry howled. "You can't make it go away! An' it's been there since fourth bloody year. If you haven't gotten rid of it by now, it's not going away."   
  
  
  
Neville looked from one boy to the other, and eventually just stared at Ron. 'For one of the war's greatest figures, he can be thick as-' and then it hit him. Ron wasn't thick. "You're scared," Neville said, obviously surprised.   
  
  
  
"Am not!" Ron cried, sitting on his own bed with a thump. "I'm terrified!"   
  
  
  
"Tell her," Harry said gently. He'd finally stopped laughing.   
  
  
  
Ron's eyes grew to twice their normal size as he stared up at his best friend. "No!"   
  
  
  
"Why not?" Dean asked. "What do you have to lose?"   
  
  
  
"My dignity!" Ron cried.   
  
  
  
"What dignity?" Seamus asked with a smirk.   
  
  
  
Neville snickered. "He has a point, Ron."   
  
  
  
Ron glanced at Neville and sighed. "Right, then, let's have a vote. All those who think I should tell Hermione I love her?"   
  
  
  
All four of his roommates raised a hand each. Ron kept his down.   
  
  
  
"All those opposed?" Harry asked.   
  
  
  
Ron timidly raised a large hand, and sighed in defeat.   
  
-------  
  
"Hermione?"   
  
  
  
She whirled around, as she walked through the halls, on her way to the library, her curly brown hair swinging with her. "Oh! Ron! Hi!" she said with a smile. "Where are you off to?"   
  
  
  
Ron paled. "I'm… going to get some food… thought I'd… catch up with you a bit before you buried yourself in the library…"   
  
Hermione blinked. "Is something wrong, Ron?"   
  
"I-I… uhm… well…"   
  
"Ron, if you've got something to say to me, just say it," she told him.   
  
"HermioneI'minlovewithyou."   
  
The silence was deafening. Ron thought he was going to throw up then and there.   
  
Her mouth opened, and she looked as if she was going to say something, but nothing came out, so she closed her mouth.  
  
'Bloody hell!' he thought. 'I found the one thing in the entire world that will shut Hermione Granger up! I should have thought of this years ago!'   
  
Finally, her words came back to her. "Ron…"  
  
He nodded. "Yes?"   
  
She looked around desperately, and pointed behind him. "Look! Quidditch!!"   
  
  
  
On instinct he whirled around. "What?! Where?!"   
  
When he turned back around, she was gone, and the swinging doors to the library were swaying back and forth.   
  
------  
  
Neville blinked at Ron from across the Gryffindor table at lunch that day. "She… she ran away?"   
  
Ron nodded, poking at his food. He had yet to actually put any of it into his mouth, which was not only uncommon, but worrying, as well.   
  
"Well, fuck me silly and call me Shirley," Seamus muttered.   
  
"This is all your fault, the lot of you!" Ron cried, pointing his fork to each one of his roommates. "If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have even said anything about it! I'd still be up in our room, ramming myself against the wall!"   
  
While his logic was flawed, Neville could see how ramming ones self against a wall was a little more appealing than being ran away from by the girl you'd just said the magic/dreaded words to. "She's scared, too," Neville reasoned.   
  
Harry sighed. "Bloody hell… you two are impossible, do you know that? I have been bending over backwards for years trying to get you two to either leave each other alone, or just snog and get it over with. I'm sick of it."   
  
"Harry… she ran away," Ron repeated, emphasizing his last two words.   
  
"You should have gone after her," Dean said, shaking his head.   
  
"Why?" Seamus argued. "Ron said she ran. Why even try and go after her?"   
  
"Because she probably wanted him to," Dean said, matter-of-factly.   
  
"How do you figure?" Neville asked, leaning across the table to hear his friends better.   
  
  
  
"She's a woman," Dean rationalized. "She's playing hard to get."  
  
Harry blinked. "I dunno… that's doesn't sound like Hermione at all…"  
  
"You should try again," Dean told Ron.   
  
Ron gave him one of his patented Ron-looks that said "You're nutters!" and then he said "You're nutters!"   
  
"Come on, Ron, if you did have any dignity, it's gone, now," Dean pointed out. "Go for it."   
  
"After what happened, why should I listen to you lot?" Ron asked, suspiciously.   
  
"Because you love us," Seamus replied with a sugary-sweet smile.   
  
  
  
Ron could only glare.   
  
Harry sighed. "Listen, Ron. Why don't I talk to her? She normally seems to listen to me."   
  
Ron nodded nervously. "Yeah. Alright. That sounds like a plan…"   
  
----  
  
And so The Boy Who Lived found himself chasing Hermione Granger through the drafty halls of Hogwarts. She was giving him quite a workout. He felt a few drops of sweat run down his face. He'd never have guessed she was so fast. 'Bloody fucking hell,' he thought. 'All I said was "Hermione, can we talk about you and Ron?" Bloody woman.'   
  
When he caught up with her, he tried to skid to a stop, but wound up piling into her, his shoes giving a squeak on the marble floor, knocking them both to the floor.   
  
"Holy shit, Hermione!" Harry cried with a laugh, as he gasped for breath.  
  
"Harry!" she snapped. "Don't curse! And get off me!"   
  
"Not until you tell me something," he replied, still lying on top of her.   
  
She squirmed beneath him, trying to push him off of her. "Harry, stop this. What if someone comes round the corner and sees."   
  
He only rolled his eyes, not making any effort to move, and not effected in the least by Hermione's attempt to get him off of her. "I defeated Voldemort last year. What do I care what the prats who go here think of me?"   
  
"Harry!"   
  
"Just tell me something."   
  
"Fine."   
  
Harry smiled down at her, his glasses sliding down his sweaty nose. "Do you love Ron?"   
  
Hermione eyes widened and she turned a dark shade of red.   
  
He smiled widely and rolled off of her, pushing his glasses up. "That's all I wanted to know."   
  
"Y-you won't tell him, will you?" she asked, sitting up.   
  
"Course I will," Harry replied with a slightly laugh.   
  
"Harry!"   
  
Harry shook his head. "Hermione, he loves you. He really does. And he finally plucked up the balls to tell you and you ran away." He got to his feet and brushed off his slacks and shirt sleeves.   
  
Hermione sighed and got to her feet as well, looking down, brushing herself off and swinging her frizzy hair back. "I just… I'm… scared…"   
  
"I know," he replied, putting an arm around her, walking now. "So is he."  
  
She placed her own around him. "Really?"   
  
Harry nodded. "I came into our room today to find him ramming himself against a wall because he was scared that he loved you and wanted it to go away."   
  
She laughed, but turned red again. "Really?"   
  
"You should talk to him… and please… try not to argue with him."   
  
She rolled her eyes.   
  
----  
  
Neville awoke the next morning to find that his roommates were all squeezed in at the window, looking out.   
  
All but Ron.   
  
Neville slid out of bed and dimly registered that the floor was freezing. He stumbled over to the window and tapped Dean on the shoulder. "What's going on?"   
  
Dean smiled. "Oy! You two, let Neville through."   
  
Harry and Seamus moved out of the way so that Neville had a clear view of the window.   
  
Off in the distance, he could see a tall redhead arguing with a short girl with curly brown hair.   
  
Neville raised an eyebrow at the other three boys. "Why are you watching them fight?"   
  
Seamus smiled devilishly. "Wait for it."   
  
"Wait for what?" Neville asked.   
  
"They're not fighting anymore," Harry replied.   
  
Neville moved away from the window and sat down on Ron's bed. "So? Now they're just talking?"   
  
"They can't?" Dean replied with a smile, leaning out the window. "How can you talk when someone else's tongue is shoved down your throat?"  
  
"What?!" Neville jumped to his feet and looked out the window over Dean's shoulder. "Holy Merlin!"   
  
"Hmmm…" Seamus said thoughtfully. "I… I think I'm going to go find Lavender." He smirked and walked out.   
  
"How does one… breath like that?" Neville asked, feeling a little embarrassed.   
  
"You don't," Harry replied. "That's why I've only kissed Cho once."   
  
The other two boys laughed, and when Ron finally noticed his friends gawking from the window, his face and ears, and presumably his entire body turned a dark shade of red. He told Hermione he wouldn't be long, and raced into the castle, up to Gryffindor tower and up to his dorm to pummel the crap out of them. 


	7. Dirty Deeds

Disclaimer: NOT MINE!  
  
Notes: Gory. you've been warned.   
  
Footprints: Dirty Deeds  
  
She, like so many like her had led a privileged life.   
  
A well-known family that lived in a big house. They were always invited to all the galas. Her father had considerable influence in high places… not as high as some people, but high enough.   
  
And her parents had been good to her. The word "no" was not something she heard often, and they'd loved her. They'd said so often. She was allowed to do almost anything she liked, and she was allowed anywhere in the house.   
  
  
  
Well, almost anywhere.   
  
You see, she was never allowed in the basement.  
  
She's never known why. She's never really cared. It was just, after all, a basement. They never put a locking charm on it. They trusted her enough not to need to. They made sure she had better things to do than lurk in the lowest room in their home.   
  
It's Christmas Eve, and she has seen much in her sixteen and a half years. But she still hasn't seen what's in her basement.   
  
Her basement. Now.   
  
The house is hers.   
  
Her parents have been found guilty of being Death Eaters. Supporters of Voldemort.   
  
She has no siblings. No other family to fall back on, except for a senile old aunt of her mother's, who is sleeping upstairs.   
  
She stares down the old, rosewood door for a long while. If someone had been watching, they would have thought she was trying to memorize every detail about the entrance in front of her.   
  
She reaches a long hand out slowly and wraps it around the silver doorknob.   
  
Brown eyes close and then open again and she opens the door.   
  
The stench that hits her is unbearable. She doesn't even know how to describe it, other than bad. Reflex takes her over and her hand shoots over her mouth and nose.   
  
The staircase is long, and it looks damp, as if it had been rained on. She takes her first step and nearly slips. It is wet. She carefully descends the rest of the stairs and the smell becomes stronger. She feels as though she might be sick, might have to turn tail and run for the bathroom, but she keeps it down. She won't be frightened. She won't lose her nerve.   
  
'Father would disapprove,' she thinks absently. 'But Father is an idiot.'   
  
When she reaches the bottom of the staircase, it's so dark that she doesn't see what she trips over.   
  
  
  
She lands on her hands and knees and the floor it wet. Sticky.   
  
She doesn't understand. Not until she pulls her want out and utters a "Lumos."   
  
Her hands and her jeans are stained red. All around her are human body parts. Some fresh, some old. Hands, legs, heads. Insides, are piled on a workbench in a corner. There are even a few bodies left whole, but dead none-the-less.   
  
And she can't be strong anymore. She throws up on the floor, and adds to the already agonizing smell.   
  
She gets to her feet, and looks around more.   
  
She doesn't need to question herself who all the people were. She knows they were Muggles. And she knows now, why her parents were carted off. How they got caught.   
  
She walks to the workbench in a daze, and stick a shaky hand into the pile of hearts, intestines and kidneys, and she doesn't know why.   
  
She wanders around the death for over an hour, before ascending back up the staircase.   
  
She's in such numb shock that she Forgets to be careful and slips on a step halfway up. She tries to grab the railing, but her hand is still slick from her first fall.   
  
She falls down backwards and she's out before she even hits the floor.   
  
******  
  
She wakes up to the smell of cleanliness, which is a stark contrast to the last scent that reached her nostrils. Her eye focus on the ceiling above her and she immediately starts to shake. She feels cold, sick from what she's seen. It's all so clear even though she somehow isn't down there anymore.   
  
"Those imbeciles," a familiar voice growls. "They couldn't have used a bloody fucking locking charm?!"   
  
"Silence, Malfoy," an older, darker voice says. "Blaise?"   
  
Snape and Malfoy appear above her and then Harry. Her Harry. Has hasn't been hers for very long, but she's so glad he's here.   
  
"Blaise?" he asks. He looks so worried. It's the first time since he came back from Riddle house she's seen him show so much emotion.   
  
"Blaise, speak to me," he said shakily.   
  
She opens her mouth but she can't find her voice. She doesn't know what to say.   
  
"S'okay, Zabini," Malfoy says. "No worries, Love. We'll get you out of here."   
  
Harry gives the other boy a slight glare.   
  
She lifts her hands to look. They're still covered in slime and blood, and she whimpers, squeezing her eyes shut. She sees it all.   
  
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Snape snaps. "Potter, get her out of here. Malfoy, find Dumbledore. I'm going to put a locking charm on that door."   
  
*****  
  
Harry floos her to Headquarters and rushes her into the bathroom. He sits her on the closed toilet seat. The walls are a light gray, and the toilet seat, sink, and bathtub are a rich black; Typical decor for Grimaulde Place.   
  
"Do you want me to help you?" he asks, looking at her worriedly.   
  
She opens her mouth again, but still can't find her voice.  
  
He takes a hand towel and wets it under the sink, adding some soap to it. He kneels in front of her and gently begins to wipe her hands clean. She shakes a little again and he looks up at her.   
  
"Blaise," he said softly. "Blaise, it's okay. You're safe. You don't have to be afraid."   
  
Finally, she finds her voice and words. "T-they were dead," she croaks out.   
  
He nods. "Yes, they were." Nothing shocks him anymore.   
  
She nods back and tries to stop shaking.   
  
"Blaise?" Harry asks gently.   
  
She looks down at him.   
  
"Did… did you know?"   
  
She shakes her head, and feels warm tears slide down her face.   
  
She had no idea.   
  
*****  
  
By dinnertime, she is composed. She's herself again. She wears a pair of Tonks' blue jeans, that she has so generously lent, and one of Harry's sweaters, which she takes without having to ask.   
  
The entire Order sits at the table, eating in silence, until Professor Lupin clears his throat gently.   
  
"Blaise?"   
  
She looks up at him, eyes curious.   
  
"We would like to speak with you after dinner tonight," Lupin tells her.   
  
She raises a perfect eyebrow at him. "And who might this 'we' be?" she asks.   
  
"Just meet us in the study after dinner, please," Sirius Black says calmly.   
  
She rolls her eyes. While she's glad to be apart of "La résistance," she isn't fond of the secrets. But she supposes that it's better than having to bow down to someone whose name is a word jumble.   
  
"May I be there?" Harry asks from next to her. He has a hand over hers on the table. He doesn't want her to face this alone. She takes his hand in hers and squeezes it gently.   
  
"No, Harry, we'd rather you not be there," Lupin says. "This is to be a private conversation."   
  
"Sod that," Blaise snaps. "He already knows. Why can't he be there?"   
  
Molly clears her throat, and the table turns to look at her.   
  
"Can't all this wait?" she asks, sounding tired. "It's Christmas eve. The girl deserves a little peace until tomorrow afternoon, don't you boys think?"   
  
The men look at one another, and Harry grips her hand tightly.   
  
Black nods slowly. "Alright. Tomorrow afternoon it is."   
  
Molly and Blaise both nod, and Harry's grip on her hand loosens.   
  
Merry Fucking Christmas. 


End file.
